


A Paper Bag of Pick n' Mix

by Evenatango



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-08-16 21:01:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8117476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evenatango/pseuds/Evenatango
Summary: A collection of ficlets and one shots about Patsy and Delia. Mostly very fluffy. There's no sort of continuity between chapters and stories aren't in a particular order - just posting as I find old things/write new ones.





	1. Denial

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is a one shot about Patsy and Delia's early days, negotiating the dangers of coming out to each other and changing the dynamics of their relationship

'Can we talk?'

Patsy froze as she heard the words she had been expected and dreading all morning. She tried hard to act normal as she replied, speaking with a forced casualness that she hoped was enough to disguise the anguish lurking beneath her calm demeanour. Although part of her was praying Delia would leave and delay the inevitable confrontation, she found herself unable to truly wish she would go. Even now, when everything was about to fall apart, she couldn't help the little leap of joy in her chest at the sound of Delia's voice.

'Now isn't a very good time, I'm in the middle of something. Can't it wait?'

'No. No, I don't think it can wait. We need to talk about what happened'.

Patsy looked away, taking a deep pull on her cigarette to steady her nerves as she did so. There was no putting it off then. The moment of retribution had arrived for allowing herself to fall for this bright, funny, beautiful girl. For allowing herself to forget in her presence that she had to pretend. _Stupid_.

Still, she had to try.

'Happened? I don't see that anything _happened_. We were drunk and you know my co-ordination is dreadful when I'm tipsy. I was aiming for your cheek, it was a simple mistake. I'm sorry if it made you uncomfortable, but honestly that's all there was to it'.

'No it isn't. I can't believe that Patsy. It was more than that and you know it'.

Delia was bouncing nervously on her heels, hugging her elbows and looking so distressed that Patsy wanted nothing more than to put her arms round her and tell her... tell her what? What could she say that wouldn't make things even _worse_? So instead she said the only thing she _could_ say, although the lie tasted bitter on her tongue.

'What more could it be? I'm really not sure what you're getting at Delia'.

'Well if that's true... if that's true then I'm just a fool. Because honestly, I have never felt this way about anyone. I didn't even think I could, not for the longest time. But with you... when I'm with you I feel like... like I know what all those daft love songs are talking about. Like part of me is waking up for the first time. When you kissed me last night I thought you felt the same way and... _God_ , I was so happy. I thought... was I really mistaken Patsy? Am I just making a fool of myself? Please, tell me I'm not imagining this'.

It was not what Patsy had been expecting. Not at all. For a few moments after Delia had finished this impassioned speech she sat still, knowing she needed to say something but too stunned to react. Her cigarette smouldered forgotten between her fingers as she stared in disbelief at the girl in front of her. Could this truly be real?

It had certainly felt real last night when the two of them had stumbled up the stairs of the Nurses' Home, both much drunker than they had expected to be on the sweet, fruity cocktails they had been sipping all evening.

The whole night had been perfect. Patsy had laughed and smiled so much her cheeks ached and every look she and Delia had exchanged seemed to confirm that the feelings she had been developing over the past months were mutual. And so when they had come to say good night at Delia's door, Patsy had acted entirely on instinct. Instead of the one armed hug and chaste kiss on the cheek she ought to have given by way of farewell, she had stepped close to her friend, so close she could smell cherries on her breath and see the faint dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose even in the half-darkness of the corridor. Quickly, before she could change her mind she had closed the scant few inches that remained between them and caught Delia's lips with her own. For the space of a few glorious, adrenaline fuelled heartbeats it had seemed as though Delia was kissing her back and Patsy was completely, giddily happy.

Then her senses returned with all the force of a lightning strike and she realised where they were and what she was doing. All the joy she had been feeling was replaced in a flash with horror and a fear so intense that she had leapt back from Delia, so suddenly she'd collided with the wall opposite. She hadn't waited for the recriminations that had seemed so inevitable to her fear-fuelled imagination to begin. Gasping out a 'goodnight' she had almost sprinted to her own room, not daring to look back or give Delia time to react.

She had spent a sleepless night trying to convince herself that no matter how disgusted Delia might be by what Patsy had just done, she was not the sort to immediately run and tell tales to Matron. Even so, by the time the rosy light of dawn began to seep through Patsy's curtains her pillow was damp with the tears she had been unable to contain at the thought that this might be her last night as a nurse before she was dismissed in utter disgrace.

Somehow, through all that fear she had never stopped to consider the possibility that Delia truly might feel as she did.

It wasn't until her still glowing cigarette burned her fingertips that Patsy was recalled to the present with a small, undignified yelp. She dropped the stub into an ashtray before finally turning her full attention from the Delia of last night back to the Delia of this morning.

There were tears on her flushed cheeks and she looked ready to bolt from the room as the unbroken quiet stretched between them and the last glimmers of hope faded from her expression. Patsy's heart gave a sick squeeze of guilt as she realised how her long silence must have looked to Delia. Sweet, brave Delia who had dared to express her feelings and risk everything even without alcohol and who she had kept waiting far too long.

With that thought, Patsy crossed the room in three quick strides to gather Delia into her arms. Filled with relief and incredulous joy she pressed kiss after kiss into her dark hair.

'I'm sorry Deels. I'm so sorry I said that. I didn't mean it, I just panicked. Last night... that kiss meant everything to me. I was just so afraid that you wouldn't feel the same and that I'd have ruined everything between us. I didn't want to lose you as a friend. But everything you just said... well, I'm the same way. And even though I've been in bits worrying that I'd ruined everything... I haven't been able to stop thinking about kissing you'.

'Do you truly mean that Pats?'

'I do'.

This time when they closed the space between them the kiss was slow and deliberate, their eyes staying fixed on each other's faces until the last possible moment. Then their lips met and the rest of the world receded until there was nothing but soft skin and mingled breaths and warm arms pressing each other closer.

And Patsy was not afraid anymore.


	2. The Taste of Whiskey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very brief one shot about Patsy's first kiss. Not especially deep or well written, just something that came into my head.

Patience Elizabeth Mount ('call me Patsy') didn't 'do' romance. She never had and had always thought she never would. She was well known for it. Somehow when the other girls in her class were sighing over the couple in the latest flick, or spying on the neighbouring boy's school playing fields when the nuns weren't watching, Patsy was left feeling curiously detached. It wasn't that she disliked boys – in fact she found the simplicity of conversation with her male friends rather refreshing (there was none of the cattiness that so often plagued groups of girls and none of the expectation of confidences), it was just that she never felt the slightest inclination to do anything more intimate than prove she could beat them in a fencing match. She had always blamed it on her childhood – even before the camp intimacy had hardly been a big feature in her life. Between a mother who seemed to think children were to be seen and not touched ('come now Patience, stop that clinging! You'll smudge my powder! And don't you dare get your dirty fingers over my silk blouse, it's new') and a father who couldn't tell which daughter was which (when he remembered he had them at all); she had hardly had a model for it.

But then came Isabella Duncan. Isabella Duncan arrived at the convent in Patsy's fourth year there, and she was, as far as Patsy was concerned, an angel made flesh. She was half Italian on her mother's side, with a wild tumble of curls that refused to stay pinned and a husky laugh that rang through the corridors and often got her in trouble with the Sisters. She smoked in secret and wore scarlet silk beneath her chaste uniform skirts and swore in Italian whenever the nuns were particularly tiresome. Her father was some kind of explorer and she had spent her early years touring the globe (or so she claimed), before she started developing physically and he decided it was time she was sent to a decent English school. To Patsy, she was a window into another world.

As the closest thing to 'well travelled' in the school Isabella (just Bella to you Patsy Darling!) attached herself to Patsy and seemed to have no greater pleasure than encouraging her into trouble and swapping stories of the places they had seen, although for Patsy this barely went beyond Singapore and for Bella... well it probably wasn't _really_ true that she had seen cities of pure gold in Canada, or that she had become a snake charmer in India. In fact her friend told such tall tales and seemed to have such a tenuous grasp on geography that sometimes Patsy wondered if she had ever been out of Kent at all, but her stories were certainly exciting, and she became so entranced by the shine of Bella's eyes and the bounce of her curls when she recounted them that she couldn't bring herself to care whether she was being lied to or not.

Isabella only attended the school for a single term, but it was enough time for something to stir in Patsy that she had thought permanently dormant. A forbidden bottle of whiskey snuck in under Isabella's pinafore as a 'farewell party' had led to the two of them getting maudlin in the deserted common room at nearly three in the morning the night before Isabella was due to depart. The things they had whispered that night were words that they never would have dreamt of speaking by daylight, or with less alcohol running through their veins, but Isabella's whisperings of 'Sapphics' and the tobacco-and-whiskey flavoured kisses that followed had stirred something in Patsy that remained long after the small, bright flame of her infatuation for Isabella Duncan had burnt itself out.

In the morning neither one of them had spoken of the things that had passed between them under cover of darkness, and although they had kept up a letter correspondence for a month or two after Isabella left, without physical proximity it wasn't long before they realized that their friendship had been one of circumstance more than any real fellow feeling. They found themselves with less and less to talk about in their letters until eventually they petered out altogether. Even so, Patsy couldn't forget the way it had felt.

Years later in a London dance hall with the taste of whiskey on her tongue once more, Patsy had caught the glance of another girl – small and dark haired, her eyes clear and blue where Isabella's had been almost black, her voice sweet and bright where Isabella's had been husky, her manner interested where Isabella's had been most animated when talking about herself. As different, in short, as two girls could be, and yet as they talked Patsy felt that same fluttering heat kindling in her belly that had nothing at all to do with the whiskey.

She knew she should walk away at once. She had been lucky there had been no disaster with Isabella, but the chances of meeting another girl who was _like that_ , and of being together safely, were almost none. She should spare herself the pain, she should...

'Can I get you another drink?'

The words were out before she could stop them, but as they stood together at the bar and her new friend leaned close to continue their conversation above the music, Patsy couldn't quite bring herself to regret it.  
  


 


	3. Breaking Curfew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old one - expanding on the scene after the Bissette still birth when Patsy goes to Delia in the Nurses' Home.

Barbara had gone home in tears, Nurse Crane's arm around her shoulders in an uncharacteristically tender gesture of support. But not Patsy. She had volunteered to finish clearing up after the birth, for all she was as keen to be gone from the situation as the rest. She was trembling so hard it had taken twice as long as usual to pack her bag and her attempts at conversation with the new parents had sounded flat and overly bright even to her own ears. She was terrified at every moment that she would burst into tears again and be unable to stop, and she would not soon forgive herself if the grieving father felt compelled to comfort _her._ This was his tragedy and yet there he was, hovering politely in the doorway ready to show her out when she had finally finished her work. She wanted to tell him not to worry about the social niceties – that if he needed to go and be with his wife and son, or even lie down right there on the floor and sob his pain and confusion away, then he should do so because she didn't matter right now. No one but Patsy herself could have denied her own bravery, and yet sometimes the courage of others made her feel so close to breaking she almost wished they wouldn't be so stoic.

She knew she should have asked Sister Evangelina to take care of it – for once there would have been no scolding for lack of follow through, just an understanding touch and the relief of releasing this burden into more experienced hands. But how could she leave? She felt responsible for the mother even now, as she lay sleeping with her new baby safely in her arms. On the surface everything was exactly as it should be – healthy baby, mother resting comfortably, doting father watching over them. And yet it couldn't have been more different from the scene of domestic bliss she had been expecting to leave behind her. Even in sleep Abigail Bissette didn't seem peaceful. Tears had left pale salt tracks down her cheeks, and her eyes moved restlessly behind their lids as though she were searching for her lost child in her dreams. There was an air of bereavement over the whole house that couldn't be washed away even by their joy at the miraculous arrival of their healthy, living son. No, this was a burden that Patsy could not so easily pass on. It didn't matter what anyone said to make her feel better. She was the senior midwife in attendance when they had arrived and it was her job to make sure everything went smoothly. Barbara couldn't do it, she was too new, too _sweet_ to be expected to. So it had to be her. And she had failed. It made no difference that there was nothing, _nothing_ that anyone could have done - the baby had been dead for days, no one could have saved her and with the second heart beat no one could have guessed the truth. And yet she felt responsible.

When she had heard Barbara's petrified whisper she had thought the baby must have some kind of deformity, but the truth had been so much worse. And they were so unprepared. It had been the first time since beginning her training that she had been at an absolute loss as to what to do. She had always been told a more senior midwife would be in attendance for the delivery of still births – they were supposed to _know,_ to have time to prepare the mother when there was no hope. She wasn't supposed to be in charge of this. But Barbara had been looking at her with terrified, trusting eyes already brimming with tears and the big sister instincts of a life time ago had kicked in. There was nothing she could do for the baby. There was very little she could do for the mother. But at least she could hold herself together enough to give both Barbara and Mrs Bissette the illusion that someone else was in control. Somehow she had managed to maintain a professional front as she told Barbara to cut the cord. Explaining to Abigail that in spite of everyone telling her that all was well with her baby for days, she had been dead for some time... that was much harder, but she managed it without falling apart, wrapped the little girl in a clean towel and lifted her away from a mother who was already beginning to scream. Surely it was better for Mrs Bissette not to have to see this, to dream about the still, pale face of her daughter forever afterwards. Wasn't it? She didn't know. In that moment all she knew was how much heavier a dead child felt than a living one. It seemed wrong that such a small thing could weigh her down so much when she knew that were she to place the girl on her scales she would be no more than 7 pounds or so. It was as though the towel contained not only the tiny body, but all the weight of years she would never now get to live and it was almost more than she could bear as she moved swiftly from the bedroom into the quiet of the hall.

Oh God. She had forgotten the father.  
As soon as she entered the living room his face lit up as he turned to her. _'Is that my little dancer?'_  
Oh God oh _God._  
She thought he'd see it immediately – the stillness and silence of the child seemed to stand out so jarringly to her, but he didn't. The look of pure _joy_ on his face was almost worse than the sobbing of Mrs Bissette, still just about audible from the bedroom. ' _Boy or girl? Don't tease me now!'_

She had had to tell him.

Patsy knew there must be a better way to break the news but it that moment, when he had asked, she had barely been able to gasp out that it ' _had been'_ a little girl. The past tense was enough to extinguish the light from his eyes though, and Patsy couldn't look at him as she crossed to the sink and tucked the fragile little foot into the towel.

Somehow she had made it through the rest of the night – the new hope for the second baby had given her the strength to step back into her 'Nurse Mount' role for the sake of the mother – she had been able to focus on just _getting her through this_ and turn her mind to the fact that this baby was definitely alive in the womb. For a while, she had actually thought that she was ok. After her brief surrender to tears over the sink she had pulled herself together and behaved quite as she should, staying at Abigail's side until it was all over and she was sleeping as comfortably as she could between fresh linen sheets, soothed by Dr Turner's dose of sedative. It was more than any of them could have hoped for – a miracle, some might say. But of course, for the Bissettes, even the fact that they had a living, screaming, healthy son could never undo the loss of the daughter they had never known, and for Patsy the delivery of the second placenta was a reminder of how different things should have been, and how close she felt to shattering even now, like an icicle during a thaw – at any moment she might lose her grip and break apart on the hard ground below.

She didn't let on though, even to the end, when the door clicked shut behind her and she was left standing alone on the dark London street. It was quiet outside, and cool air caressed her cheeks as she walked slowly to her bike and buckled her bag safely to the back. She swung herself into the saddle and began to cycle as if this had been any other delivery. Yes, objectively she thought she really must be alright after all.  
But the cobbles and bumps of the street had never before felt so jarring, the sound of her own breath in her ears never so loud, so _accusing._ Because she was breathing while that little girl never, ever would. Not even once.

She hadn't meant to go to Delia. No, really, she had been going to go back to Nonnatus, take a long, hot bath and go to her own bed, the way 'Nurse Mount' would do after a difficult day. Somehow though, when she looked up from the road she wasn't at Nonnatus at all, but outside the Nurses' Home. Knowing she was that close, there was no turning back. So she had parked her bike in the rack with the others, picked up her bag (because habits instilled by Sister Evangelina are hard to break and to leave ones bag unattended in the street was a crime akin to murdering puppies or wearing one's red hat indoors in eyes of the formidable nun) and climbed the steps to the front door as if she had every right to be there long after midnight. In that moment the danger seemed inconsequential. How could something like this matter next to what had just happened? Besides, it was easy. After all she had lived here once too.

The spare key wedged into a crack beneath the doorsill was a secret passed only to such girls as could be trusted not to tell Matron or ruin it for the others by trying to sneak chaps up to their rooms (an endeavour inevitably doomed to discovery). Patsy had been one of those privileged with the knowledge, and to her great relief the key was still in its place, ready for girls who had missed curfew to spare themselves an awkward climb to the second floor lavatory window. It was very dark inside, but Patsy could have found her way to Delia's room blindfolded without stepping on a single creaky floorboard or waking even the lightest sleeper. The route was as familiar and comforting to her as the journey from wakefulness into the arms of a peaceful slumber.

By the time she pushed open Delia's door she could feel the tears prickling her eyes and her voice, when it came, sounded more choked than she was expecting. All it took to break down the last of her composure was the faint scent of honey soap, coffee and peppermint chocolates that reached out to her the moment she stepped over the threshold. Nonnatus smelled of new baked bread and damp, and her room there of hair lacquer, face cream and tobacco. They were familiar smells and had come to symbolise the family she had found at the convent, but no matter how well loved they became, the subtle fragrance of Delia would always draw her back when she needed to lay aside her mask for a while. More than anywhere else in the world, entering Delia's room felt like coming home. The room itself was plain and small, much as her own had been when she still lived here, and yet is was the scene of so many of her happiest memories. And of course, it contained...

' _Delia'_

There was no reply. Of course there was no reply, it was the middle of the night and Delia probably had to be up for a shift in a few hours. She should stop this right now, while she could still leave undetected. She could turn around right this moment and head back to Nonnatus – no one would be any the wiser. It was the sensible thing to do. She would go.

Patsy closed the bedroom door and moved to kneel beside the bed, reaching out as she did so to give Delia a little shake. She was blinking hard but it was no use, the look of tender concern on Delia's face as she rose out of sleep and turned to her was all it took for the hot tears to slip over the Patsy's lashes and splash onto the blanket between them. When she tried to speak her voice was choked and wavering, and she couldn't make the story come out in a way that made any sense. Instead of the calm, ordered sequence of events she had been expecting to explain, what came out was a jumbled confession of all she felt but had been trying so fiercely to repress.  
'I've only ever seen it once, in training... I had to take charge... I had to pretend'

Until she said it she hadn't realized that it had been that, more than the death itself, that had terrified her. The not knowing what to do, when knowing was the most important thing in the world. She worked so hard to always know what was best and she thought she did. Usually she was known as the competent one, it was her shield against suffering – even when the outlook was grim she always knew she had done all that could be done to help. But this time she might as well have been a nine year old child again, kneeling on the filthy floor of the hospital hut trying to decide whether it would make things better or worse to give the little boy with dysentery a drink of the contaminated water that had probably made him sick in the first place.

'Pretend what Pats?'

'That I was in control. I couldn't let them see'.

Warm, comforting arms reached out to enfold her and gentle hands stroked her hair as Patsy finally gave in to the wrenching sobs that had been threatening to overwhelm her since she had first realized Mrs Bissette's baby was gone. For once, she stopped fighting it and leaned into Delia's chest, allowing herself to be held and kissed while she cried.

'Tell me sweetheart. Tell me what happened'.

Delia's voice was so gentle, so loving that it made her cry harder and for a long time she could manage no more words. Delia didn't ask again, she just held Patsy close and continued to stroke her hair and murmur soothingly until the first intense wave of sobs subsided.

'You're alright sweetheart, I've got you. You're safe now'.

Tears were still leaking from the corners of Patsy's eyes, but the muscle-shaking, all consuming sobs had finally eased and Patsy felt rung out, exhausted by the intensity of her own emotions.

'Patsy, I'm going to let go now, but I'm not leaving you, I promise. I'm right here, I'm just getting you a hankie, alright?'  
Patsy nodded, not realising until Delia spoke how tightly she had been clinging to her. With some reluctance she eased her grip and allowed Delia to move her arms from around her. She shut her eyes and tried to resist the urge to sob anew and cling like a baby monkey, but as promised, Delia didn't leave her, she put a cool hand to Patsy's hot cheek and tilted her face upwards a little, just enough to gently dry her swollen eyes with the soft cotton handkerchief she had retrieved from a bedside drawer.

'That's better. Try and stand up a minute Pats, we need to get you out of that coat and shoes so you can be comfy. Here, lean on me, you're still a little unsteady'.

She had meant to tell Delia she was fine, she could stand alone and she didn't need to take off her shoes – she couldn't stay. But instead she found herself nodding and allowing Delia to pull her to her feet with a strength that seemed at odds with her small frame. While Patsy blew her nose and wiped her eyes again, Delia folded her coat carefully and laid her shoes neatly beneath the chair, the way Patsy would have done herself.

She knew she should leave but the idea of moving felt impossible, so when Delia returned to the bed and coaxed her to lie down she did as she was told without objection. Delia tried to pull the covers up around her but the movement woke Patsy's ever-vigilant caution and she put out a hand to stop her 'I can't Deels, my uniform would get crushed. It would be far too obvious that I'd been in someone else's bed. I'll just lie on top for a minute'.

'But Pats, you'll get cold. You've had a shock, you need to keep warm. You could put on some of my pyjamas, then you needn't worry'.

'Your pyjamas would be far too small, I'd look ridiculous! And if anyone did come in... well it would be even harder to explain if I was in your clothes. Besides, I'm warm enough, honestly. I won't be cold. Please Delia'.

Delia looked at her for a long moment, deciding whether she should push the point. But Patsy still looked so fragile that she didn't want to do anything to make her feel anything less than perfectly safe.

'Alright. If you insist. I'll just have to hold you tight and keep you warm that way'.

'No, Delia you don't have to-'

'Shh, I know you Pats and you're not alright yet. Let me look after you for once. Come here sweetheart'.

In spite of the objection she had half heartedly attempted to raise, Patsy felt almost pathetically grateful when Delia lay down close behind her and wrapped her up in warm arms. She found Delia's hand in the darkness and threaded their fingers together, bringing it up to press a silent kiss against her palm as she gathered the courage to recount what had happened.

'I'm sorry I disturbed you in the middle of the night like this, it's just... well, this is the first case like this I've had since I started midwifery training. They were so happy Delia, so loving. It was everything you'd want to bring a baby into and it was all going so well. We had no inkling at all... then the baby was stillborn. Barbara... Barbara had said she heard the heartbeat during the first stage, but the baby was stillborn'.

'Oh Pats, you should always disturb me. I'm so glad you came, I couldn't bear the thought of you going through this all alone. That must have been dreadful for all of you. But it can happen, sometimes babies seem fine in the womb, but they can't make the journey out, it wasn't your fault'.

'No... no it wasn't like that. If it had been then it would still have been awful, but at least we could have _tried_ to revive her. There would have been something to do. But she had been dead for several days, it was much, much too late to do anything. She was long gone and we'd had no idea, and I had to- I didn't know what to do but Barbara was looking at me so desperately, I knew she was panicking. She couldn't even think, let alone speak. I didn't know what to do. I had to pretend, but all the time I was so afraid because what if I got it wrong? She was so still Delia. And so little and I couldn't help it. I should have stayed strong but I couldn't stop myself crying.  
I was supposed to be the strong one'.

'You are strong sweetheart. I've never known anyone half so strong as you are. Of course you cried, anyone would have. It was so much to deal with on your own, especially without help or warning. I know you Patsy, and I know you'd have given everything you could to those people, and even if you couldn't pretend not to be affected, that isn't a bad thing. You're allowed to have feelings darling. And you don't have to take everything on yourself. It's alright to need help. It doesn't make you weak'.

It was a while before Patsy could continue. Delia had spoken with such earnest conviction that it made her want to cry all over again, because knowing that someone believed in her so completely was almost painful for Patsy. It was so unfamiliar it still frightened her a little and she felt as though she couldn't possibly deserve it. She hadn't told Delia everything. Maybe when she did she wouldn't think of her as so strong after all. But she had to tell her anyway.

'There was another baby. It was quite amazing really. Undiagnosed twins. That was the heartbeat Barbara heard, and the reason we hadn't detected the trouble with the first baby earlier. The mother was almost too worn out to cope by that point. She was in so much pain, she was exhausted and she was grieving for the loss of her child. I was so afraid it would be too much. She was almost out of her mind with fear for the living baby, sobbing for Dr Turner not to hurt him, so anxious she was almost unable to push. I did my best. I tried to keep her spirits up. It felt so wrong after all that had just happened, disrespectful almost, but I was smiling and acting as though it was a normal delivery, if a very difficult one. I still don't know if I did the right thing. I felt so lost Delia. I kept thinking about the cold little bundle in the kitchen and I just wanted to run away. It was awful. The first really difficult case I've had and I just wanted to run. How can I be a good midwife if that is my instinct when it gets tough?'

'Oh darling. You can be such a fool sometimes. Of _course_ you wanted to run. It was an impossibly difficult situation. Anyone would want to get away from it. But the point is you _didn't._ You could have left the moment the more senior midwives arrived, but you stayed, and you put the needs of the mother before yourself to make sure she was able to do what had to be done, and because of you she did. You were so, so brave sweetheart. Being strong isn't about not feeling afraid. It's about feeling scared out of your mind but doing it anyway. And that's exactly what you did, and you got her through it. You are incredible Patience Mount and I am so proud of you'.

There was a pause.

'Delia?'

'Yes sweetheart?'

'I don't want to go. Not just yet. Would it be alright if I stay here a while? I know you need to sleep...'

'Oh Pats, you don't even have to ask. I never want you to go. Especially tonight. I wouldn't hear of it'.

After that it was quiet for so long that Delia thought Patsy had fallen asleep, but then:

'Deels?'

'Yes Pats?'

'Thank you'.

'You're welcome my love. Try to sleep a little now. You're safe here, and I'll take care of you'.

And somehow, although she hadn't expected to, Patsy did fall asleep, held safely in Delia's arms; their bodies curved around each other as if fitting together had been their purpose all along.

Delia lay awake for a long time after Patsy dropped off, just holding her and breathing in the familiar smell of her hair. She was tired, and it was true that she had a shift to get to that morning, but somehow Delia couldn't bring herself to go to sleep. She was so touched that this strong, fiercely independent girl who had relied on no one but herself for so many years had trusted her enough to let her in at her most vulnerable moment. And now she was there, in her arms. Who knew when that would happen again? It was so rare that she even got to hold Patsy's hand for more than a second or two at a time, she couldn't bear to give up a single moment of _this_ to unconsciousness.

Eventually though, when the first hint of pre-dawn began to dilute the shadows from pools of darkest ink to a pale grey that coated everything like dust, Delia admitted defeat in the battle against sleep. Very reluctantly she moved her arm from around Patsy and shuffled back slightly, creating a chaste few inches of space between them. She hated doing it but knew that Patsy would feel safer if they woke in a position that appeared platonic and blameless. They could make up a convincing story this way, should anyone discover them. She had promised Patsy that she would take care of her, and if holding back was what Patsy needed to feel safe, she would do it.

Maybe one day they would find a place where they wouldn't need such caution. But just for now, this was enough.


	4. The Meringue Cafe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today is my girlfriend's birthday (happy birthday sweetheart!) and I wrote her a birthday fic, which she suggested I share. It's very very fluffy, but I imagine a bit of fluff is no bad thing after all the chapters of angst I've loaded you with in The Hands I Used to Touch. I hope you all like it anyway :)
> 
> It's set just after Delia moves into Nonnatus House, Patsy takes Delia for a belated birthday treat.

'Happy belated birthday darling'.

'Thank you Pats! And look at you, all dressed up for the occasion! New uniform?'

Patsy smiled and struck a slightly self conscious pose.

'Newish. We've had them since Easter, but what with one thing and another I never got the chance to show you then. What do you think?'

Delia looked her up and down with an exaggerated frown, tapping her chin and walking a slow circle around her girlfriend, making small 'hmm'ing noises as she did so, as if taking very serious stock of all the pros and cons of this new look.

By the time she returned to stand in front of her again she was grinning.

'I love it, very shapely. Very modern. It suits you'.

Delia's expression was entirely innocent, but somehow the words so many other people had spoken were different when she said them, and Patsy felt suddenly glad that she had taken up Trixie's Keep Fit classes. There really was much more of a waist to this dress than the old one.

She tried to distract herself from the blush creeping into her cheeks, brushing imaginary dust from her front and saying briskly:

'I'm not certain about the cape, it has to be worn just so or it tugs at one's neck dreadfully when you cycle, and it does flap rather. I feel quite like an overgrown bat when the wind gets up'.

'Oh no Pats! The cape's the best part! It's so... so _swooshy._ Like a pantomime villain'.

Delia waved her hands about to demonstrate and Patsy let out a laugh.

'Good grief Deels, don't let Trixie hear you saying that! She would be quite put out to hear our stylish new look likened to a moustachioed fellow in black with a penchant for cackling'.

'Witches cackle. Pantomime villains guffaw. Or maybe they snigger. Chortle? Cachinnate?'

'Is that last one even a word?'

'Of course it is! Goodness your vocabulary Patience! Did they teach you nothing in that fancy boarding school? Even so, none of them quite fit. I think they need a new word for it... But I'm getting off topic. The cape always looks so much fun. I quite fancy playing the villain in a panto, getting to stomp around and make dramatic exits in a whirl of sequins... When do I get to try it on?'

'Well... I _am_ due to start rounds in a minute... I only came in because Sister Julienne said you arrived late last night and I couldn't go without at least saying hello!'

'Oh go on Pats, it's my sort-of birthday after all'.

'Well...'

The cape was rather long on Delia, so that she really _did_ look as though she was in costume when she gathered it over her arm and whirled it around her. Her voice dropped a couple of octaves and seemed to drip avaricious delight in a change so sudden that Patsy was rather startled.

'At last, after all these years of _searching_. Am I not a genius?'

'Gracious Deels you really ought to join a drama society, you sound quite convincing!'

At that Delia straightened from her 'sneaking villain' pose and stomped her foot like a petulant child, although her frown was too comically fierce to be entirely genuine.

'No Pats, the line is 'truly you are oh great master'... or something like that. My dad was the villain in Aladdin when I was a little girl and I used to help him run lines – that one's been stuck in my head ever since. His cape wasn't nearly as good as yours though'.

'It seems I'll have to work on my pantomime sidekick phrases. I'm afraid I'm going to have to reclaim the cape now though or I shall be horribly late and Nurse Crane will make an example of me. She's a stickler about time keeping'.

Delia returned it somewhat reluctantly, muttering that it was unfair that _her_ uniform didn't get a cape.

'You'll just have to train as a midwife, then you'll get a cape of your very own!'

'Maybe I will! Although I don't suppose that would be as much fun as stealing yours'.

'Just like eating your own chips is never as good as stealing mine? I really do have to go... but will you meet me after clinic? I've found the most amazing cafe I've been dying to take you to, and I want to buy you a piece of cake, since your actual birthday was in Wales'.

'Why certainly Miss Mount, I would be delighted'.

Delia swept her a dramatic curtsey and waved her off as Patsy hurried back downstairs, still trying to secure her cape as she went.

…. …. ….

Patsy refused to tell her where they were going as she and Delia left the clinic that afternoon; hurrying along beneath a slate grey sky, its low, heavy looking clouds threatening rain with every step.

'The café's a surprise, stop wheedling! We'll be there in a minute. You'll like it though I promise'.

Utterly mystified by Patsy's air of suppressed excitement (it was only a cafe after all, what could be so remarkable about it?), Delia followed her through a warren of side streets and alleyways, until they were a good way away from their usual haunts. They were so far from the main shopping streets now that she wondered how on earth a cafe would get enough passing trade to support itself – how did anyone ever _find_ it?

At last Patsy put out a hand to stop her, pointing to a small wooden sign above a door.

'This is it! The Meringue Cafe'.

'What an odd name! The Meringue. It's a strange word too, don't you think? They were always eating them in the famous five books, but when I was a child I didn't realise that the merin-gyoos I was reading about were just normal old meringues, I was ever so disappointed when I asked mam for a merin-gyoo and she explained it was just a funny spelling and I was saying it wrong. I still say it that way in my head whenever I see it written down'.

'I thought you liked meringues?'

'I _do_ , but they aren't as good as the mysterious Enid Blyton merin-gyoo. I always supposed they'd look like igloos for some reason... and contain a lot of chocolate'.

'Tell you what Deels, the first thing we'll do on Mrs B's day off is head to the kitchen and invent our very own igloo-like chocolate merin-gyoos... But the name really isn't why I brought you. _Do_ come inside and see!'

Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn't this. The cafe was cosy and homey inside, with an open fire crackling merrily and a rather informal arrangement of droopy sofas and big squashy arm chairs clustered around low tables. There were several cut crystal vases of violets arranged around the place, and the subtle scent of them mixing with the delicious smell of freshly baked cakes was so alluring that she found herself breathing in great, hungry lungfuls. It was certainly a lovely place, but none of these things really explained Patsy's air of nervous excitement. She was practically vibrating with it. Before she could ask however, Patsy had grabbed her hand and was steering her towards the counter, where a jolly looking woman with greying curls was slicing a cherry sponge into generous portions.

'Afternoon dears, just one moment and I'll be with you'.

The woman settled the sponge beneath its glass cloche on the counter and turned to face them, absent mindedly licking a dab of icing sugar off her finger as she did so.

'Right then, what can I- _hello,_ it's Patsy isn't it? Lovely to see you again my dear! We'd been hoping you'd stop by, And this must be the one you told us about... Delia? Welcome to the Meringue Delia, I hope you'll become one of our regulars!'

Delia was growing more puzzled by the moment. The woman was lovely and friendly, but she couldn't imagine how Patsy knew her, or what context could possibly have led her to talk about Delia (Patsy was usually so careful to avoid making them sound like anything but regular chums, the same way she talked about Trixie or Barbara). What was more, although there was no further need to guide their direction, Patsy was _still_ holding onto her hand. In public. In front of a woman who apparently hadn't even noticed and a cafe full of patrons who _probably_ weren't looking, but still, it wasn't like Patsy to overlook something like that.

'Delia, this is Maud. She runs the cafe while her partner Ruth bakes the cakes. Just _wait_ until you try them!'

And then to Maud: 'we're here as a late celebration of Delia's birthday, since she was in Wales on the actual day. I've promised her cake'.

When Maud beamed her face creased into a map of wrinkles around eyes that looked as though they had seen more laughter than tears in their lifetime. To Delia she gave the impression of a grandmotherly baked apple, and she couldn't help liking her.

'Well then Delia, you must accept a slice of whatever you fancy on the house in honour of the day, and I shan't take no for an answer. Isn't that right Ruth?'

For the first time Delia noticed another woman appearing at the door to what was presumably the kitchen, her shirt and slacks dusted liberally with flour and cocoa powder, her frizzy hair escaping in every direction from pins that seemed unequal to the task of taming it. In her hands was a large, generously iced chocolate cake, the peaks of fresh, fluffy cream around its edge topped with deep red cherries that made Delia's mouth water just looking at them.

'A birthday? Of course she must have a free slice! And one for our Patsy as well of course. What shall you have?'

'You're very kind but I wouldn't want to do you out of the business... we'd be happy to pay'.

'Nonsense dear, you pick what you like. You can always repay us by coming again if you enjoy it today!'

'Well then, thank you very much... and I must admit that chocolate is my special weakness'.

Ruth beamed ecstatically 'hear that Maud? A woman after my own heart! And what a pretty accent too. What about you Patsy? A slice of ginger cake perhaps?'

She gave Patsy's hair a glance (just in case any of them had missed the joke) and grinned wickedly. If she hadn't known better Delia would have almost thought she was play-flirting as she added 'chocolate may be my first love, but I do like a bit of something fiery now and again'.

And then she actually _winked_. It must be her imagination. Middle aged women did not flirt with their female patrons, no matter how jokey and good naturedly they were doing it. It just didn't happen. She was still in a daze as Patsy decided on the carrot cake and ordered a pot of tea to go with it.

With another heartfelt thank you to the two behind the counter, they took their laden tray to a table in the corner. Delia perched on the sofa, expecting Patsy to take the chair opposite so they could maintain a respectable distance, but instead she sat down close beside her – closer than they had ever dared to sit even in the Nurses' Home common room, when they had both lived there. Although she hated to be the one to pull back, Delia couldn't help whispering in mild alarm:

'Pats are you sure this is safe? Shouldn't we... sit apart a little?'

But Patsy just laughed – a carefree sound that contained a note of that same glee she had been displaying all afternoon.

'That's why I brought you here Deels! Look around, don't you notice anything particular about the clientele? Or about Maud and Ruth themselves for that matter?'

Delia did as she was told and looked, as subtly as she could, around the cafe. Now Patsy mentioned it there did seem to be a disproportionate number of women here... actually, when she looked more carefully she realised even the ones with short hair and button down shirts were women.

There wasn't a single man in the whole cafe.

But there _were_ several couples holding hands over their tables, or sitting cuddled up on sofas talking together in low, intimate tones. It wasn't _all_ couples – there were various groups of friends chatting and sipping tea around the larger tables, but even they were all women, and once or twice Delia caught someone's gaze lingering on another girl for a moment or two longer than seemed strictly platonic.

'Pats... is this place what I think it is?'

In answer Patsy smiled and kissed her cheek.

Happy birthday Deels'.

'Oh _Patsy_ , it's perfect! I can't believe you found it! I can hardly believe it _exists_. It everyone really... like us? Truly?'

'Look at the counter'.

Delia looked, just in time to see Maud give Ruth a quick peck on the lips before shooing her back into the kitchen, playfully scolding her about distracting her from her work and letting the scones burn. Ruth stuck out her tongue like a child and flicked flour at her playfully, but then she obediently returned to her baking, shooting a look of such intimate fondness back over her shoulder that any lingering doubts were dispelled from Delia's mind.

'This is the perfect birthday present'.

Patsy put out an arm and Delia snuggled against her, revelling in the feeling of being so close to her girlfriend. It made such a nice change to have her heart beat faster purely because Patsy was close to her, and not because every touch was edged with the fear of discovery.

'I don't know how today could be better'.

'That's because you haven't tried the cake yet. Go on, have a bite'.

The cake was heaven. The sponge surprisingly light and the icing rich and smooth and so intensely chocolatey that she shut her eyes for a moment in utter bliss.

'That's it, I'm moving in'.

'It's incredible isn't it? Ruth really is the best baker I have ever encountered. If Sister Monica Joan knew about this place Nonnatus House's coffers would be emptied within half an hour'.

For a while they chatted companionably in between savouring bites of cake, while the rain that had been threatening all day was finally released and began to drum against the windows. If anything the sound of its pattering only served to increase the cosiness inside the cafe, and Delia snuggled even closer to Patsy, sighing with contentment. Just then a large, long haired grey cat came sauntering round the counter and made a beeline for them. It leapt lightly into Delia's lap and began a deep, rumbling purr as it settled down for a nap.

'This cafe has a cat. Patsy, I can't BELIEVE you didn't tell me this cafe had a cat!'

'I thought you'd enjoy discovering Shadow for yourself. Besides, if I'd told you you'd have spent the whole time searching for her and I wouldn't have had anything of you at all until she was found!'

'That's not true!'

Patsy raised a perfectly arched eyebrow in a way Delia thought she must practice in the mirror to get it so utterly sceptical – no one could be so naturally skilled in the art of eyebrow based disbelief. She squirmed a little and confessed:

'Well alright, perhaps it's a _bit_ true. But isn't she gorgeous? Listen to that purr! Like a rusty tractor. And I've never seen such big paws! I think this cafe must have been made exactly with me in mind, I can hardly believe it exists'.

'Neither could I at first - I delivered Ruth's great-niece a few weeks ago and that's when I found out about it. It was a while before I really believed what I was seeing. They really are the most remarkable couple, making all this happen... and going undiscovered. There patrons tend to find out about it through word of mouth, and it's so far off the beaten track it doesn't get many people just wandering in'.

'I hope we'll be like that at their age, still happy and teasing and... still together'.

'We will be. We'll find a way'.

And as they sat there with the purring cat stretched across their laps and the rain turning the cafe into a world apart from the rest of London, it seemed that in spite of their set backs, they really would.

At last, and somewhat reluctantly, they agreed it was time to make a move, although the rain was still hammering down with such force it seemed it was trying to strike dents into the cobbles. They were almost at the door before Delia realised she didn't have a coat.

'Oh Deels, why on earth didn't you bring one? You'll be soaked!'

'It's June, I didn't think of it being necessary'.

'You're from _Wales_ , the place is practically made of rain! I didn't realise the Welsh even had a concept of seasons, except rain or colder rain'.

'I hardly think London gets to feel superior right now. At least Wales never gets smog'.

'Well, you'll just have to come under my cloak with me I suppose. If I undo the straps and you stay close, we should just about both fit'.

Nestled close against Patsy's side, Delia found she suddenly didn't mind a bit that she didn't have her coat. It made for a slightly awkward journey, attempting to keep both of them inside its folds, but she was walking snuggled up to Patsy and no one would bat an eyelid even if they saw. Under cover of the voluminous cape Delia slipped her chilly fingers into Patsy's miraculously warm hand and gave it a little squeeze. Perhaps she would have to forget her coat more often.


	5. The static of distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SPOILERS for series 6 episode 6. SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS.
> 
> On the night they are all afraid might be their last, Delia decides she doesn't want to be alone with nothing but a photograph. 
> 
> This is a shamelessly self indulgent scene to make us all feel better about Patsy being away from Delia that night, as requested by cynicalrainbows :)

Delia closed the book on the picture of Patsy and stood up, so abruptly that the chair scraped loudly across the kitchen floor, making her wince a little at the noise.

She needed to talk to Patsy.

All this time she had promised herself faithfully that she would stick to letters – she wouldn't call Patsy after a bad day, not even after her first still birth when she had cried herself to sleep and dreamt of that tiny, fragile baby that would never know what it meant to be alive. Patsy had enough to deal with in Hong Kong without Delia adding to it. But this was different... this threat – the threat of nuclear war - it affected them all. And God, she didn't want to die without speaking to Patsy one last time.

It was getting late now, but Delia found a late night cafe owner who was willing to exchange the ten shilling note she gave him for coins, with the assistance of a little friendly sweet-talking and a few flashes of her dimples.

There was a phone box on the next corner, but she didn't go in. Instead Delia walked almost two miles, away from Nonnatus, away from the cafe that had changed her money, and the well lit streets that she had grown to know as her home. She had been tempted to go to the one on the corner of Whittle street – a sentimental sort of throw back to the reunion she had had with Patsy the Christmas she had first come back to London after her accident, but decided against it. To be there without her love beside her felt too raw, too much like going backwards and rewriting history with the wrong words. Besides, as they had found to their cost, that phone box was busy, and Delia wanted privacy. As much as she could get anyway.

In the end the one she found was perhaps a little run down, and the box smelt faintly of urine... but the street outside was dark and empty, and the chances of interruption seemed slim. Besides, the phone was in full working order, and that's all she really needed.

With shaking fingers she dialled the number she had memorised, slowly feeding in coins as she waited to be connected, her heart hammering. What time was it in Hong Kong? Morning by now surely, but how early? Delia couldn't remember how many hours ahead they were, and she fervently hoped it was late enough not to make Patsy panic. She almost hung up then. Would have hung up, except-

'Mount residence'.

The voice was sleepy and crackled faintly with the static of distance, but it was familiar and so, so dear. There was a beat of silence when all Delia could do was grip the phone as a tear slipped down her cheek and she gripped the receiver so tightly she felt she might break it; as if she might reach right through and touch Patsy if only the casing of this blasted phone would get out the way.

And then she drew in a long, shaky breath and said

'Pats'.

'Delia? Is that you? What's wrong, has something happened? Is someone hurt?'

'No – no, everything's fine. Well. There are things to catch you up on, but there's no emergency Pats I promise. I'm sorry for calling so early, I just-'

She wiped the tears that were now streaming down her cheeks with one wrist and smiled bravely into the receiver, although it wasn't as though Patsy could see her efforts to be reassuring.

'It's this business with America and Russia. Everyone here's getting so tense over it, and I thought... well, if this is to be my last night on Earth, I couldn't spend it without speaking to you'.

The silence was longer this time, and Delia was afraid they had become disconnected, feeding several more coins into the slot in a moment of panic before she realised she could still here Patsy breathing. And then, almost too quiet for her to catch: 

'I love you Deels'.

It was as though a deep splinter had been pulled from Delia's heart at the words, and she put a hand to her chest as she felt muscles that had been tense since Patsy left ease, just a little. The pain was still there – the wound bleeding freely without the splinter to hold it in, but it was a clean pain, and one that felt as though it had a chance of healing over. Enough, at least, that she could bear it until Patsy's return. Or indeed, bear it if the bomb dropped and there _was_ no return, not for any of them. At least she would have this to remember in those last moments.

'I love you too Pats. So much. I'm sorry if I've made things difficult for you with this call. I know it must be dreadfully early there'.

'No, I'm glad you called. I'm up before dawn most mornings these days, and calling at this time meant it was me who picked up rather than my father's house keeper. But it wouldn't matter. I'd think of something to tell her. It's just so good to hear your voice'.

'Oh Pats. I can't begin to tell you how good it is to hear you. Being with you was all I could think about'. 

'Being with you is all I can ever think about. I imagine you're with me every night, just behind me on the bed...'

'I do the same. But tonight, when the future's so uncertain and Trixie and Barbara are both off on dates and the house feels so empty, the pretending just wasn't enough'.

Trixie's on a date? Who with?'

For a moment Patsy was distracted by the news, keen to hear the gossip about her best friend. Then the reality of the moment returned to her and she said

'Sorry, that isn't important right now. Do you have to go? If we haven't got long I'd rather hear about you than Trixie, you can tell me the rest in a letter. As long as I know you're doing alright'.

'No, it's fine, I can stay a while. I'm in a phone box, so unless anyone else comes to use it I don't have to rush away. I have plenty of change. If you have the time I'd like to just... talk a while. I've missed this. I've missed _you'._

_'_ I'd like that'.

And so they stayed, Delia leaning into the wall of the telephone box, her cheek resting against cool glass as though she could change it to the warm familiarity of Patsy's cheek just by wishing hard enough. She closed her eyes on the darkness and the smells of London around her and focused solely on Patsy's voice as they exchanged all that news that can't quite be fully told in a letter and savoured the nearness of the other as the world turned slowly but inexorably towards salvation or disaster.

Being here, feeding her wages coin by coin into the telephone and talking of small things with the woman she loved half a world away would not change anything, not in the grand scheme of things. But all the same, Delia didn't feel so afraid anymore. For all the miles between them, she was not alone after all.


End file.
